Bugle Boy of MASH 4077th
by MASH-Nut-4077
Summary: My sister bet me that I couldn't write a songfic for Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy. Hah. I won the bet. Ten minute songfic... read and review!


_**.**/He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way_

_He had a boogie style that no one else could play_

_He was the top man at his craft_

_But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft_

_He´s in the army now, a-blowin´ reveille_

_He´s the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B/_

Placing the bugle to his lips, Radar blew a frightful string of notes that echoed through the still camp. He glanced imploringly at Major Burns, who returned the gaze with an icy glare. The notes became steadily more jumbled and tuneless. When he finally paused to take a breath, fighting down tears of humiliation, they started to throw things.

At least he woke them up.

_/They made him blow a bugle for his Uncle Sam_

_It really brought him down because he couldn´t jam_

_The captain seemed to understand_

_Because the next day the cap´ went out and drafted a band_

_And now the company jumps when he plays reveille_

_He´s the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B/_

A boot, beer bottles, an empty picture frame, a pocket-sized Bible... the men whose sleep had been so rudely interrupted by an incompetent bugle-playing Corporal would throw anything they could find. However, now that they were up and in formation, Radar no longer had to worry about being decapitated by a flying mess tray. He brought the instrument under his arm and marched back to his place next to Major Houlihan.

He had begged Frank, the ferret-faced Major Burns, but the answer had been an angrier 'no' each time. Just the same way he had begged Henry. But Colonel Blake had argued that, despite how much he preferred it over the usual, it would be his butt if anyone found out about non-regulation bugling. It just wasn't fair.

_/A-toot, a-toot, a-toot-diddelyada-toot_

_He blows it eight-to-the-bar, in boogie rhythm_

_He can´t blow a note unless the bass and guitar is playin´ with ´im_

_He makes the company jump when he plays reveille_

_He´s the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B/_

Radar imagined what it would be like if the other guys knew what he could do. He remembered what it had been like when he got that trumpet for Christmas. Ma and Uncle Ed had known how badly he wanted to learn to make music, and they had scrimped and saved for months! It was so shiny and perfect... not like the battered old bugle he was forced to play here. He had learned how to play that trumpet, and to play it well. Heck, he'd once been called the best trumpet player in all of Ottumwa!

_/He was our boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B_

_And when he plays boogie woogie bugle he was busy as a ´bzzz´ bee_

_And when he plays he makes the company jump eight-to-the-bar_

_He´s the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B/_

"Hey, Radar, how about letting me do some sledgehammer surgery on that hellhorn o' yours? I bet it'd sound better."

Radar glared at Trapper over his immense tray of food, and remained silent. Boy, if they only knew. If the Majors hadn't slept with a copy of Army Rules and Regulations stuffed down their shorts and Henry wasn't so afraid of ending up with his butt in a sling, he would show them... he'd show them all...

_/Toot-toot-toot, toot-diddelyada, toot-diddelyada_

_Toot, toot, he blows it eight-to-the-bar_

_He can´t blow a note if the bass and guitar isn´t with ´im_

_A-a-a-and the company jumps when he plays reveille_

_He´s the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B/_

"Yo, O'Reilly, can I borrow your bugle? We're out of toilet paper..."

Turning away and ignoring the other Enlisted men, Radar continued to file papers and sort them, his ears growing red.

_/He puts the boys asleep with boogie every night_

_And wakes ´em up the same way in the early bright_

_They clap their hands and stamp their feet_

_Because they know how he plays when someone gives him a beat_

_He really breaks it up when he plays reveille_

_He´s the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B/_

Each day, the camp was forced to wake up with headaches. Some of them with headaches lumped over the ones they already had from their hangovers. And they were dismissed to bed in much the same way.

One morning, as he stood in the empty compound in front of Majors Burns and Houlihan, blowing reveille on his dusty little bugle, Radar grew brave. A jazzy trill brightened up the notes and for a minute they became sharper and clearer. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of playing what he loved, and it actually sounded **good**.

_/Da-dah-da-dah-da_

_Da-dah-da-da-dah-da_

_Da-dah-da-da-da_

Coincidentally the notes slipped out of tune with an earsplitting squeak, at exactly the same time Margaret's foot connected with Radar's shin. No one had noticed when his playing improved drastically, but they all woke and set up a grumble when it returned to its usual raspy disharmony. They all leapt out of bed and stormed out of their tents, cursing and threatening the young Corporal.

A new day had begun.

_A-a-a-and the company jumps when he plays reveille He´s the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B!/_


End file.
